for what it's worth, i really enjoyed the kiss and i wouldn't mind doing that again sometime.
FOREWORD INCOMING !!
un...prompted???? !! written for @bowslingers
she’s grouchy, slouched into the corner of the seat in a non-traditional dress—the kind that would only be believable to her family if she leaned fully into anti-tradition, the opposite of her first weddings. no altar, no crowd, no celebration. just two witnesses and them. her elbow props on the door, hand supporting her head as her gaze drifts out the window of the moving car. trees blur past in streaks of green and shadow, and the rhythm of the road hums beneath the tires. she wishes she were running instead, burning her frustrations into the ground, but she likes this dress, and she’s already decided she’ll wear it again.
the drive stretches quiet, neither of them saying much. the silence thickens until they arrive, released into the hush of their newlywed home—her personal space tucked into the depths of the woods. the air here is crisp and earthy, thick with pine, and the stillness is absolute. no horns, no chatter, no city clutter to dull her senses. nothing could sneak up on them here, not with her sharpness attuned to every sound between the trees.
“ you know—second kiss. ” she lifts two fingers, her tone a complaint wrapped in mockery.
she’s talking about the fake pictures, the fake affection, another piece of something important taken from her. did she make it believable? yes—the photos look convincing, maybe too much. there’s a bleed of truth in them, the trace of her actual interest flickering through. or maybe it isn’t that at all. maybe it’s just that she likes how he looks stripped of all pretense, bare skin and sharp lines, and she can’t stop thinking about that—how the thought bled through the kiss whether she meant it to or not.
for what it's worth, i really enjoyed the kiss and i wouldn't mind doing that again sometime.
it takes her a long few seconds to realize, the wheels in her head grinding as she translates his words into another language. the meaning doesn’t arrive all at once—it trickles in, hesitant, like water dripping through a crack. her breath stalls in her throat, her chest tight with the weight of that statement. another few seconds drag by, long and heavy, before she finally turns to him. the movement feels slow, like her body resists acknowledging what her mind already knows.
her brow furrows as the sound slips out, disbelief coloring the single syllable. the door opens behind her, hinges giving a low groan, echoing her confusion in the small space.
he just looks at her as though he’s said the most obvious thing in the world, as if it requires no clarification, no explanation. the silence after his words presses against her ears, stretching thin, painful in its stillness.
her body doesn’t obey right away—there’s a pause, her lips parting as if she might argue, or demand he repeat himself, or laugh it off. but nothing comes. it’s a long, drawn-out ache of hesitation before she finally moves.
one step. then another. her breath quickens as she closes the space between them, heart hammering at the sheer nerve of him, at the nerve of herself for wanting this as badly as she does.
her manicured hand rises, trembling only slightly before she steadies it, fingers brushing his jaw before she takes hold, firm, insistent. she turns his face toward hers with no chance for him to pull away, no chance for him to pretend he didn’t mean it.
and then she crashes their lips together—this kiss so much sharper, so much hungrier than the last. there’s no hesitation now, no pretending. it’s filled with need and threaded with enthusiasm, as though all those dragged-out seconds were just fuel for this one reckless, undeniable moment.
